


Time Goes On

by SpiritusRex



Category: Big Hero 6 (2014)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Drunkenness, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-13 00:28:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4500771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpiritusRex/pseuds/SpiritusRex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His big brother is twenty-one years old.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time Goes On

He is twenty-two, one year older than his big brother had been, and he is completely drunk off his ass.

Gogo, one of the only of his college friends with whom he is still in contact with, gets a call from him at two in the morning. He’s sobbing, sitting on the floor of his kitchen with the broken ceramic pieces of a tea cup scattered before him on the ground, evidence of his attempt to make tea to calm himself down. The tea kettle on his stove whistles angrily in the background, but all that he can say to Gogo the moment she answers the phone is that _he would never spill the tea he would make it perfect he would hold the cup and his hands wouldn’t shake and why do my hands shake when his hands didn’t?_

Very calmly, Gogo asks where Baymax is. But Baymax has been shut down for maintenance and upgrades since monday, and his twenty-second birthday had been wednesday, and he’d essentially been alone.

“I’m coming over.” Gogo says. He doesn’t mention that she lives in the next district over, that it would take her nearly thirty minutes to get to his apartment but only if she ran every red light and even longer if she didn’t. “Do you want me to stay on the phone?”

Flashes of car crashes and dull crushed metal made neon under the unforgiving lights of the city fill his mind. He thinks of a limp hand black with blood holding a phone that still has his voice filtering through it. He moans, feeling sick, and presses his forehead against the floor as he mumbles _No. No. Drive safely. Please._

She doesn’t ask why. She understands. That’s one of the things he likes about Gogo, her stable and quiet understanding.

When she arrives, he has not moved. He has tried many times to scoop the tea cup fragments into his hands, but they’d either been shaking or too limp to cradle the pieces with the care that they need to be held with. His face is flushed red, and he’s really well into being drunk at this point. Gogo uses her spare key to get in because he cannot stand when the doorbell rings. He trips over his own feet, and he sprawls on his back on the ground, and Gogo cups his alcohol flushed cheeks in her hands and says “Why did you do this to yourself?”

He’s still sobbing, because he knows why, but he doesn’t want to say the reason out loud. He doesn’t want to see Gogo - strong willed, stubborn, confident Gogo - cry with him. He doesn’t want to drag more people down.

She helps him to stand, fighting to hold him upright when he tries again to get his drunken arms to clean the ceramic up off the ground. But she is still only 5’4” and he has inherited some of his father’s height and now looms over her with his thin frame at a substantial height of 5’11”. It’s a struggle, and during it, at some point, the tea kettle stops screaming. He’s grateful, but it’s worrisome that he did not notice. He supposes though that its only natural you miss some things when you’re drunk.

His room seems to be a million miles away, and Gogo helps him go every inch of it. Baymax’s small red case rests in the corner of his room. He starts crying again when he sees it, sobs renewed and back at full force, and thinks of the wonderful creation of technology resting inside.

 _So many people, Gogo._ He slurs, leaning on her, right leg bending while his left leg stays straight. She grunts as his bony shoulder digs into the side of her neck. _He wanted to help so many. And instead he’s not here but I am here. Wasted! Wasting!_

“You should go to bed.” Gogo whispers, not daring to address his drunken grief at the moment. “You should go to bed.” She repeats when both his legs bend beneath him, and he begins to give into gravity’s pull upon his heart.

 _I’m older than him._ He wails, forgetting his resolution to not tell Gogo the reason he is doing _all this to himself._ The reason he is drunk and the reason there is a broken tea cup in his kitchen and the reason he had chosen this week on purpose for Baymax to be shut down for maintenance. _I’m older than my big brother._

“You’ll be okay.” Gogo says, still trying to pull him to his bed.

_No I won’t because I’m older than him and he’s gone!_

He doesn’t remember much of what happens after that, only that there's a blur of movement and blankets, of being wrestled down and held tightly, but there are no words. No words until all has calmed and the room is dark, no words other than his last whisper _I wish he was here._

As he falls asleep, he hears Gogo, from his place where his head is nestled into her shoulder, say “I wish that too.”

The next morning, there is no evidence of broken tea cups, and he and Gogo toss bits of the eggs that she made at each other until his hangover headache overwhelms him and he sits down, laughing between groans. The bottle of hard wine, nearly empty now, that he’d gotten drunk off of the night before sits hidden in Gogo’s car where she’d put it during the long hours before he had woken up, and he doesn’t really feel angry at this. After all, his brother wouldn’t want him to be having any repeats of the night before. His brother would want him to take care of himself.

* * *

 He is eighteen, three years younger than his older brother had been, and he is standing scared stiff on a stage.

The college degree in his hand is so so heavy, and feels like metal and ash against the calloused pads of his fingers. The administration of SFIT had wanted him to speak at the graduation ceremony in front of all the people gathered, to speak as the youngest graduate, as the prodigy, as the _genius_. But for all his immense intelligence he is still just eighteen, and his brother is not in the crowd to tell him to “ _Breathe._ ” this time. His brother is not in the crowd at all. His brother had never seen a college graduation ceremony. His brother had never graduated.

Suddenly, he feels very much like he’s going to be sick. All the words he prepared and the speech he had so painstakingly written and had Fred grammar check completely drops out of his mind and memory. The man in the crisp suit who’d been gesturing for him to walk closer to the microphone, who is the closest to him at the moment, sees how pale his face must have gone. He speaks in to the microphone, smiling apologetically, “Just a minute please.” Then turns to him, and moves as if to put a hand on his shoulder.

He jerks away, breathing heavily, and tries to smile. _I’m fine_. He says, though the suited man looks dubious, and the other school officials on the stage also look worried now. The crowd of students - they’re all at least twenty two, older than his brother had been - watch him from below, and their faces blur together as his anxiety spikes and time slows down.

But then he sees a face that sticks out. Baymax stands there, off to the side, next to Aunt Cass who is smiling encouragingly but with worry in her eyes. Baymax blinks his tiny black bell-like eyes when its noticed that he is looking at the robot, and then he raises his right arm, and waves in that quirky circular way that he does.

He breathes. He breathes. “ _Breathe._ ” His brother whispers to him. So he breathes.

He steps up to the microphone, moves it down a bit to more comfortably suit his height, and begins. His speech starts on a light hearted note, but as it progresses, he knows he makes some people uncomfortable. The death of a student on campus at the hands of a professor is not a topic that many people like to think about outside of the petty gossip that occurs whenever the _Tadashi Hamada Memorial Hall_ is passed. But he plows on, talking about his brother, talking about his brother’s dream, talking about how his brother always pushed him to do something great with his life. And now that he’s finally graduated college after flourishing and passing each course with flying colors, like his brother had always believed he could, he passes on that inspiration.

_He never gave up on me, so I will not let my brother down. I don’t want any of you to let him down either. Use this college education and those diplomas in your hands to do something incredible. Use it to change the world. Look for new angles, and don’t let anything stop you._

He knows he’s crying by the time he finishes the speech. He can feel the thin tears on his cheeks. He sniffs, and scrubs at his eyes quickly with a clenched fist. He opens his eyes again when he hears the start of an applause that quickly grows and crescendos into a magnificent mix of proud and joyous sound, and he’s smiling, and then laughing, because Baymax is clapping too. All his friends who had already graduated years ago are there with Aunt Cass and Baymax, cheering and happy for him, and he stumbles off the stage on legs that still echo with anxiety and will feel weak for hours more. He falls into all those warm arms, melts against them, and lets his friends support him and hold him up before Baymax flops over top of them all and nearly flattens them against the ground. He laughs, and cries, but he laughs more than he cries, and he reaches a hand out of the pile of his friends to grip one of Baymax’s chubby marshmallow fingers tightly.

* * *

He is fourteen, seven years younger than his older brother had been, and he is choking on hope.

Its a heavy hope, thick and hot and pressing against his lungs with each breath he takes. It’s in his throat, choking him, and he cannot blink for fear that what he is seeing might disappear.

Because there, in the empty shell of Baymax’s rocket fist, is the small green chip with the small doctor face sticker smiling up at him.

He’s yelling then, rushing over to the door of his personal lab which was once his brother’s lab and throwing the door open and calling to his friends saying _He can come back! He can be rebuilt! Look! Come see! The chip!_ And he wants to say all his unspoken thoughts, he wants to yell that he’s not going to be left alone again, that he’s still going to be able to have and be friends with the greatest thing his brother has ever created. He wants to say that he’s so grateful that he hasn’t lost everything.

Honey Lemon, Fred, Wasabi, and Gogo come bursting into his lab in a hurry after hearing his excited shouted words. They pause, in a semi-circle, surrounding the shelf where he had set the huge red rocket fist. None of them dare to move the tiny green chip from the palm of that hand, and merely stare, just like he had, not blinking just in case it might disappear.

Then Honey Lemon has her arms around his shoulders, and she’s squealing excitedly. Fred is hopping around, and Wasabi pulls both him and Honey Lemon into a huge hug as Gogo is the one to go over and pick the chip up. But then the happiness stops.

 _Don’t! Don’t touch it!_ He yells, pushing his way out of Wasabi and Honey Lemon’s arms, practically knocking Gogo to the ground as he wrenches the chip from her hands and cradles it within his own. _Sorry, I just- I need to make copies before I get started on rebuilding Baymax._ They’re all quiet now, looking at him with sympathy and pity and understanding. He turns his back, and hunches his shoulders, and moves over to the desk at the side of the room where his brother’s computer still sat. A few of his brother’s things still remained in the lab, having not been moved or touched by the school at the request of Aunt Cass to retrieve her dead nephew’s items and clean his space up herself, and the computer was one of them. He hoped it was filled to the brim with the plans for Baymax’s body, he hoped he would turn on the computer and immediately get to work right away.

“We’ll help you, you know. We’ll help you rebuild Baymax.” Wasabi says, putting a hand on his shoulder. He sucks in a breath past the hope in his airways.

“Yeah, you don’t even have to ask little buddy!” Fred smiles as he bounds up to his side. Then Honey Lemon is there, and then Gogo. They’re all there for him and for Baymax and for his brother. So he turns on the computer and plugs the chip in and

There is code. So much code. He remembers one of his first comments to his brother upon seeing Baymax, that he _must’ve really done some coding on this thing._ And he’s not proven wrong. Baymax is something on a completely different level, and he’s amazed, because usually people would describe him as being on an entire unique level of intelligence. Yet here is something that his older brother, the one only marginally above average in intelligence, who won awards and grants and scholarships but still had barely held a candle compared to his little brother’s mind when that mind got focused on something, here is something that his older brother has made that is probably the most incredible robot to ever walk. Baymax transcends human understanding, transcends everything, and he smiles at the mess of code as it is copied and copied to chip after chip after chip. He will have to update the backup chips on a rigid schedule as Baymax continues to learn and his A.I. continues to grow, but he has no problem doing that. He will do so as if it is the greatest honor in the world, so that he can make up for how he had so carelessly tossed the chip aside when face to face with Callaghan or how he had let Baymax’s first body float off alone into a neon void.

When everything has been backed up and all of what makes Baymax Baymax is safe, then, and only then, does he turn around and smile as wide as he can.

 _Well, you guys said you’ll help me, right?_ He asks, spreading his arms out, gesturing at the lab around them. _If you’ve got nothing better to do right now, we should start!_ But then his stomach grumbles loudly, and he flushes right to his ears as his friends all laugh.

“How ‘bout some food first?” Honey Lemon asks, clapping her hands together, looking excited. Food was like chemistry and Honey Lemon loved both.

 _Alright._ He answers, and they all begin to filter out of the lab, chatting already of plans for Baymax and of plans for the future and as they talk and walk he stops, just in the doorway of the lab, and turns around.

The lab is cold, and quiet, and empty. But he can still feel the echos of his brother in the cool walls and in the light streaming in through the large round window, and even more so in the way his friends call “Hurry up! We’re waiting for you!” when they notice he is not with them.

 _I’ll be okay. Thank you._ He whispers to the empty room. To Baymax’s green chip with the name Tadashi Hamada written on its label. Then, he shuts the door, and runs to catch up with Honey Lemon, Wasabi, Fred, and Gogo. They decide to go eat at the new noodle shop down the street from the SFIT main campus, and he nods, and he agrees, and he enjoys the noodles.

* * *

He is twenty-two, one year older than his big brother had been, and the air is cold with old ghosts that swirl around him as he stands in the graveyard.

 _I’m older than you. And taller than you._ He whispers to the headstone. He chuckles after a moment of silence where a response might have fit but instead there is only empty air. Then, he kneels down, and presses his knuckles against the cold stone that has the name _Tadashi Hamada_ etched into it’s depths.

_I wish you were here._

He thinks for a moment that he hears someone with a deep familiar voice whisper _I wish that too._ But in the end he shakes his head, and decides that it is only a memory of the night before, when Gogo had comforted his sobbing drunken self and then stayed until the morning and then had been generous enough to drive him to the graveyard.

_You’ve helped so many people. You’ve inspired so many people._

His hand shivers against the stone, and he pulls it back, tucking it into his pocket to mirror his other hand. Baymax, had he been there, would be talking away about the effect of cold weather on human skin and how he shouldn’t stay crouched as long as he was because cramps could be painful and a thousand other things. He knows how he would react in response to Baymax’s ramblings. He would just laugh, and pat Baymax’s warm stomach, and smile.

So, even though Baymax is back in his apartment, still deactivated and sleeping the time away, he smiles. He smiles at the headstone, at the place where his brother’s ashes were buried beneath the soft dirt of the earth.

_Thanks. For not giving up on me._

Then he stands, and he tips the brim of the worn San Fransokyo Ninjas hat on his head in respect, and then he leaves. He is older than his big brother now, and has graduated college when his brother had not, and has rebuilt his big brother’s greatest invention, but all of that is okay. He’ll be okay. After all, his brother would want him to take care of himself.

Gogo drives him home, waves from the car window until she sees him safely into his apartment complex, and then drives away. The key to his home is small and cool in his hands, and he fits it into the lock with ease. He opens the door and there stands Baymax, reactivated - likely by Gogo - and looking better than ever after all his maintenance and little upgrades.

“Hello, Hiro. Welcome back!”

He runs, and he hugs Baymax, and he feels like he’s fourteen all over again.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd posted this oneshot on fanfiction.net awhile ago, and thought hey, why not post it here to AO3 as well. I'll probably do that with some of my other oneshots or stories as well. 
> 
> This was very experimental when I wrote it, so it may seem very stream of consciousness-y or rambly in moments. Still though, I hope I've portrayed well the emotions I was trying to. I imagine growing up after Tadashi was gone must have been hard for Hiro, but as it always does, time goes on, yknow.


End file.
